


Daemonmate

by rayningnight



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - His Dark Materials Fusion, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, F/M, Gen, His Dark Materials Inspired, M/M, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 07:16:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8739889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayningnight/pseuds/rayningnight
Summary: He gets chills a lot, an addictive good chill, like a river down his spine filled with love and laughter. Yuuri would respond by grabbing Nikkō from his side, tugging just a bit closer so as not to explode with the rush of euphoria.
  On the other side of the world, Victor sometimes wonders why there was always a delayed reaction between him and Niko when he embraces the daemon after each medal on the ice? Oh well— oh! Photo? Of course, smile!
In this world, some people are born with daemons. And sometimes that daemon, their soul manifestation, may swap with their soulmate’s — at any point in their lifetime.But… what happens to those who swap too early in life, and their names are too similar for anyone to tell the difference?





	1. Introductions

Nikkō had settled as a trumpeter swan and Yuuri doesn't understand _why_.

"What do you mean, Yuuri? This form is fabulous! It’s absolutely perfect for me!”

Yuuri buries his face in his hands.

Nikkō rarely listened to Yuuri, and seemed to be the complete _opposite_ to him than some sort of reflection of Yuuri's soul. Ever so curious, Nikkō was nosy and impatient, and had serious tunnel vision to anything that didn’t concern Yuuri or dancing and skating — more so on the skating though, which was odd, considering Yuuri had been much more into ballet before he had first stepped onto the ice with tiny blades and flushed cheeks.

Nikkō had always been frustrated when in classes with Minako-sensei. Saying odd things, strangely _helpful_ things, like, “No! Yuuri, your shoulders and hips and ankles have to line up properly,” or, “See look, just follow your body, toes an knees pointed outward for aesthetic and balance!” Which. Uh. What?

“How do you know?” Minako-sensei’s daemon, Ruelle, had curiously asked. Minako-sensei's daemon had settled as a Japanese red fox, all whipcord muscle and sleek bright fur. Nikkō, who hadn’t settled yet, had been in a red fox form as well, but it was clear the form wasn't quite right.

“It’s obvious, of course." Nikkō had sniffed. "To be grace, to be _beauty_ , you must be symmetrical.”

Yuuri hadn’t even known what 'symmetrical' _meant_ at five years old.

“This feels wonderful! Beautiful!” Nikkō chimes into his thoughts. “I am so glad you watched that bird documentary. For goodness sake, I could never be so barbaric as some four-legged creature, no matter their… inner beauty, I suppose. Sorry, Vicchan.” Nikkō nods to the toy poodle, who barks happily back and shakes his little body out as if to shake off the ‘bad vibes.’ Nikkō takes to the air with a crow, “Now I can fly! Isn’t this amazing, Yuuri? Is this how you feel as you soar across the ice? Beautiful!”

Nikkō had been more obsessed with skating than him when Yuuri had went to the Hasetsu Ice Castle for a field trip. At that time, taking on a mousy lemur form, Nikkō had been content to hold on underneath Yuuri’s coat as Yuuri got used to balancing on the thin blades and made his first strides.

“Can we go again, tomorrow?” he’d asked when he got home. Seeing the brightness and the unmistakable awe in Nikkō's eyes that Yuuri noticed was never quite present when watching Yuuri in a leotard and slippers, Yuuri _knew_.

And as he spent more time on the ice than off it… it became— it became more _freeing_. Exhilarating, as he got faster, as he got used to the bite of cold air, wind burning his cheeks and the sound of crushed ice—

Then, along with Minako-sensei, he learned from Yuuko’s father at the rink how to _dance._ Nikkō would always be with him as he learned to twirl on both hardwood floor before transitioning it onto smooth, white ice, learned to kick and curl and spin and step _just so_ to the side over the years.

It was likely the only thing he truly shared with Nikkō, this love and passion for this sport.

He never responded to Yuuri’s emotions as others did; still never does, like shifting into a cat to hiss at incoming danger like Takeshi’s daemon once did, seemingly oblivious to anything and everything unless Nikkō truly focussed. Instead, Nikkō would change sporadically, sometimes to things that caught his whimsy but reverting to animals — and a butterfly at one point — at the most mundane moments of life. Once at at breakfast he’d suddenly been hit with adrenaline or something and morphed into a hummingbird, another time during math class he’d been hit by a wave of sadness and turned into a turtle, and so on. 

Yuuri wonders more often than not if something was wrong with them, but he never had time to book a soul specialist. Besides, what was the point? Yuuri's gotten used to it. He gets chills a lot, an addictive _good_ chill, like a river down his spine filled with love and laughter. Yuuri would respond by grabbing Nikkō from his side, tugging just a bit closer so as not to explode with the rush of euphoria. This would immediately relieve him, and he wouldn’t think about it again until it happened once more. Honestly, it didn’t happen so often that it affected his day to day life, and if it did, he already had the remedy, so why bother wasting his parents’ money on some soul specialist when he was already draining their funds with his ice skating and ballet lessons? Why worry them further when they already worry about all the other aspects of his life: social, academic, sports and injury?

“But swans are symbols of beauty, and grace, a-and _showmanship —_  they're for people who perform! H-How can I possibly—” Yuuri begins.

“Yuuri,” Nikkō cuts in with commanding brevity that Yuuri could never replicate. There is a stilted silence as Yuuri looks into eyes so blue, so very _odd_ and  _different._  “I’m your soul. You are meant to show the world beauty and elegance. I know you are, as I am, as _we are.”_

“B-But I can’t—“

“Yuuri. How long have those photos of Victor Nikiforov been up on your room’s walls? Do you not want to feel the excitement of capturing the audience’s attention, drawn solely to yourself, to only look but never touch? To desire but never receive? To tease and take and give back only what you want to show the world? Because I do. I feel it when you're with your family and friends — and if I feel it, you must feel it too.”

Yuuri pauses and then nods shakily — he never had articulated it that way before, but Nikkō’s words ring true, as always. 

So, at twelve years old, after he lands a wobbly but otherwise perfect double axel triple toeloop combo, he tells Minako-sensei and his family and finally Yuuko and her father that he wants to enter the local competitions.

 _No_.

Yuuri looks to Nikkō who is standing tall and firm and utterly beautiful, his long wings once flared now being tucked and folded to his pure white body. “He _will_ enter those competitions and _win_. And he will do so with _panache_.”

Yuuri watches as all the daemons look to Nikkō with pride and _everyone else_ looks to _him_ with knowing smiles, as if _he’d_ been the one speaking and had that confidence, even though he has no idea what _panache_ even means (was that English? It didn't sound like English...).

Still.

He knows what he wants. Though not as confident as his soul seems to be (which is strange, he still thinks that’s so awfully strange, but he will tell no one, he won’t even admit it to his soul—), he will take what he can and do what he will.

Because he loves the ice — he loves to skate more than anything in the world.

 

* * *

 

On the other side of the world, Victor sometimes wonders why there was always a delayed reaction between him and Niko when he embraces the daemon after each medal on the ice?

Since he was young, four or five or even six years old, he noticed something odd with his daemon, but could never pinpoint it. Niko hadn’t yet settled (which was odd for someone his age, though not too uncommon) but that wasn’t the problem.

Niko was shy and passive-aggressive and was more sharp than Victor to anything and everything. He wasn’t the opposite of him, but Victor couldn’t help but wonder if he’d perhaps turned into his on-stage mask for the ice and now couldn’t conform to what he once was? Or something? But he didn't feel as if he was faking his confidence. He felt great all the time, he was boisterous and assured and curious and yet Niko always reeled him in, brought him back down to earth, and Victor just wonders _how_.

Niko should have been like Victor, right? The handful of rinkmates who had daemons... well, those daemons were eerily like them — perfectionists Nikolai and Sharine, arrogant Alexei and Mikhail, dramatic Georgi and Zhenya — even Yakov and Valya were both… what was the word… someone cold at first but was just as soft as the innards of a bossche bol pastry…

Anyway.

He’s learned in school that they were representatives of their soul. A fact of life everyone took for granted. But Victor looks to Niko and wonders if perhaps they were just companions meant for the lonely, companions to keep those who need a reason to keep living, companions for the ones who still held onto the belief that they could swap for a soulmate that could _complete_ them—

“Umm, Victor? Someone’s asking for a commemorative photo,” Niko pipes up from his spot, cradled in his arms as a fluffy Arctic hare. He was edged in close, as if to hide from the crowds, as the paparazzi were still going crazy over his Junior Grand Prix win.

Oh well— oh! 

“Photo?” he asks the adorable pair of teens in front of him, who nod rapidly and the left one holds out an older-model of the iPhone. He takes it from her hand and swipes to camera mode. “Of course, smile!”

After the flash, Victor hands back the phone. “Thank you, darlings. I hope you enjoyed my performance.” He winks.

“Oh, kill me now…” he hears Niko mutter, and when he glances down, he sees his little daemon covering his eyes with his little paws, as if that would help block anything out. Victor wants to laugh, but he thinks it’d be rude to not continue conversation with the girls in front of him!

Honestly, Victor doesn’t really believe that daemons are soul manifestations anymore. He’s not the least bit embarrassed, and, well... hmm, perhaps deep _deeeeep_ down — he knows he’s _still_ not embarrassed.

“I don’t understand how you can stand there and just... do that. Isn't it embarrassing? What if they reject you? How do you not feel utterly ridiculous, I mean, the winking and the talking—"

Victor wonders if all animals have the ability to blush...

Suddenly Niko morphs from the hare form into a toy poodle — like a miniature Makkachin! “Oh, that is such an adorable form!" Victor comments, while keeping an eye out for Yakov to pop out of the restrooms soon. "Have you settled? Oh, am I supposed to be able to tell? It’s quite—“

“No, Victor. I haven’t… sorry…” Niko nudged his hand and Victor automatically petted him, a reflex he’d gained from owning Makkachin for so long. “I - I don’t understand why I felt the need to change… but…”

Victor shrugs. “It’s alright, Niko! Oh— Yakov! Over here~!"

 

* * *

 

Yuuri is fifteen when he witnesses Yuuko’s daemon swapping with Takeshi’s.

He’d been on the rink practicing his steps over and over again, adding a twist, another cock to his hips and flair of his hands when he hears a squeal.

Yuuko was at the stands, video taping him to catch his faults, and Yuuri immediately stops and skates over to her.

“What’s wro—“

Instead of Namito on the fence cheering, Yuuri see’s Takeshi’s daemon, Hanika, a tortoiseshell house cat, perched on the fence looking frightened and joyful and utterly confused.

“What’s wrong? And where — where’s Takeshi?” Yuuri asks, looking curiously over at the feline.

Takeshi wasn’t inside the rink, which is odd. Daemons could only stay so far away without hurting the body, though no concrete number was known yet. Studies found it varied with different people, some could reach as far as a hundred feet apart and some could only be a few hundred centimetres. Yuuri was lucky that Nikkō didn’t mind separating so far apart when he was so large and couldn't follow or stay with Yuuri on the ice — they’d never felt any strain in their bond — but Yuuri always kept Nikkō within sight or with a family member to be on the safe side.

Takeshi, for as long as Yuuri had known the boy, had to stay within three feet of Hanika.

Suddenly the doors burst open and Yuuko’s nightingale songbird, Namito, flies through and crashes into Yuuko. Behind Namito, Yuuri vaguely hears heavy breathing and thudding footsteps before Takeshi steps into sight.

_Oh._

Takeshi swoops in like Namito, following the bird’s example and crushes Yuuko in a hug. Hanika steps closer, and — and then the four of them freeze. A moment later, with much hesitation yet still steadfast in those excruciating seconds, Yuuko places a shaking hand on Hanika, Hanika rubs back against her hand and— and, and Takeshi _groans._

Face burning, Yuuri turns away from the scene.

He knows from his parents that it doesn’t _hurt_ when your soulmate touches your daemon. When he was a little kid, he didn’t know whose daemon was whose, as his parents’ didn’t mind swapping or leaving both daemons with just father or just mother for convenience. Mother’s was too large to travel comfortably, so when she had to go on errands, she had to leave him with Yuuri’s father. 

But as he grew older, he began to realize that wasn’t the norm. People didn’t just _leave their soul_ behind or allow others to touch their daemon, unless it was their soulmate, and even then, touching only happened behind closed doors and outside of the public eye.

Touching another’s daemon was a sign of trust, deeper than giving up your body to sex, stronger than holding another’s hand to the handle of a knife to your throat. He knows that, intellectually. But with just that brief look behind him… He shudders. It - It feels like a _violation_ , because, like — how? How can you let anyone, even if they’re your soulmate, touch _your soul?_

He thought it was fine, his parents did it so maybe— but no. He was used to them doing it consistently over the years but — to see it happen like this, not with his mother and father who whittled down the odd, _odd_ feelings whirling in him over the years of exposure— He can’t. How— how can Takeshi and Yuuko—

Later that night, he hugs Nikkō closer in bed, and he absolutely loves and adores him when Nikkō doesn’t protest even after Yuuri accidentally bends one of his feathers. Yuuri never really gives into his desires to hug Nikkō at every chance and is unused to embracing a water fowl but when he feels that ball of warmth lighting within him, he thinks maybe that will change, because Nikkō is the _best_ and Yuuri suddenly thinks, huh, he doesn’t want a soulmate _at all_ to contaminate this wonderful feeling.

 

* * *

 

Victor shudders. A thrill runs through him, warmth and longing and _whatisthis_ and he grabs ahold of Niko in the back of a taxi, on the way back from practice, all jittery and _thrumming_.

"What is th-this?" asks Victor.

Niko burrows into him. "Love."

"No, I mean—" Victor cuts himself off because, whatever, he'll question it later, right now all he wants is a moment of silence as he is filled with this strange emotion and he tries his hardest to give some  _back._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas Eve! And Happy Birthday Victor!!! (In the countries that are hours ahead....)
> 
> I have an idea of what I'm doing and have so far sketched this to be 10 chapters, but I have _no idea_ if I'll be able to get to that point because I am a terrible person and have started writing another YOI story [and I'm not even supposed to be writing in this fandom, omg I have too many unfinished stories elsewhere whyyyy] so if someone out there wants to, they can go write a daemon!YOI fic please and thank you~
> 
> EDIT: I forgot to mention that there are no witches or panserbjørn — this is a HDM _inspired_ fic! =D


	2. Interactions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-linear narrative! Mostly because I didn’t realize I wanted to put these scenes in… LOL
> 
> Why is Yuuri so much easier to write than Victor? (T.T)
> 
> Also, just note for gracious use of italics/brackets and implied homophobia. Also, lots of headcanons thrown in here! Because this thing just grew accidentally into a mess but I'm posting it all raw anyway because I've been sitting on it since January and I literally have no idea how to fix it! :D

Yuuri is not there. He is _not_. He doesn’t see this, nope—  nope— he is not horribly invading another’s privacy, he is not seeing Namito chirping as the tortoiseshell cat licks and grooms his feathers, the bird daemon basking in Hanika’s little tongue and loud purring with no notice of Nikkō’s presence.

Yuuri’s face burns as he does _not_ pay attention to the closet the daemons are 'standing guard' of, pointedly _not hearing_ the sounds coming out of it.

Nope— nope—

“Oh, aren't they just adorable?” He hears Nikkō sigh dreamily. “Love is such a wonder, isn't it, Yuuri?” 

Yuuri sighs and then flushes when he distinctly hears something loud and highly suggestive through the wood.

"Y-Yeah, uh— lets just block this area off." Yuuri rushes over to grab a yellow cleaning sign and places it at the far end of the hallway, so anyone walking through the doors would see it first before stumbling across… _this_.

"Well, it's a good thing we booked the place for a few hours!" Nikkō chirps. "Just keep the 'Closed,' sign up for a bit. They can have their private time while we skate!" Nikkō bounces as he sing-songs, "Time to skate, skate, skate, it's time to skate, skate, skate~!"

Yuuri nods quickly and hastily moves onto that subject as they head over to the rink. 

"What should we practice today? I have a new idea on a step sequence transition from a biellmann spin—"

"Oh, boo," Nikkō huffs with a twirl on his feet. "You need to stop focussing on your strengths, Yuuri! Your steps are already pretty much flawless! Even better than that Russian skater you're so enamoured with.”

Yuuri flushes. “I _am_ _not_. Victor-san has been skating years longer than I have—"

"He’s, like, four years older…? I don’t know, I can’t remember.” Nikkō flutters. "What's so great about the guy, anyway? We’ll be better once we hit the international stage. I mean, it’s _so_ obvious. He's such a showoff and those quads are just going to _ruin_ his knees, he's too young to do them right now, like _honestly_ , and that smug little smirk just _grates,_ like, who does he think he is—"

Yuuri knocks Nikkō's head lightly. "Oh, shush you. You’re acting like a teenager. You _know_ that Victor-san is amazing; he’s even my reason for skating competitively."

"Hey, no, give credit where it’s due! _I_ was your reason! I was the one who convinced you, come on, Yuuuuuu _riiiii!"_ Nikkō whines.

Yuuri sits down once he reaches a bench, and takes out his skates from his bag, laying them to the side. He gets into a stretching position. “Well, I guess you _were_ the one who got me thinking about it. I'm not that good right now—"

"What! Who told you such _lies!"_

"—but I want to skate the same ice as him one day, the same rink and competition." Yuuri ignores Nikkō's squawking. "Wouldn't that be amazing? To skate with perfection—"

“ _Perfect_ my lily-white—"

Yuuri speaks louder over him, "—and beauty! I want to be just like him—"

"—oh, no way Yuuri, you're going to be _better_ than that — that _princess_ once we get into—"

"Okay, Nikkō, stop, please stop."

Nikkō folds his wings in and hides his face under one wing. Yuuri can tell he's sulking, though he can’t hear the exact words beneath those feathers, and he sighs. "I honestly don't understand us."

He hears a snort and more muffled grumbling beneath Nikkō's wings.

"Maybe someone messed up in heaven and we got mixed up together?"

“What? _No_ , Yuuri. You're _mine_." Nikkō resurfaces with a fierce glare. “And you — we — are _perfect_ the way we are. Hmph.”

Yuuri smiles, stretching over to card his fingers from Nikkō's head to body. "You're mine too, don't worry. It's a silly thought, anyway."

Nikkō sniffs imperiously, batting away his hand. Suddenly, he perks up. Stars glitter in his eyes. “Well, maybe I'm your performance persona! The other part of you that comes out from the depths of your soul, your true self beneath—"

"You've been watching too many soap operas, Nikkō."

“Wha—? No! I’m — oh, you’re done stretching!” Nikkō turns back and, seeing that Yuuri's laced up his skates already, he leaps up with a cheer. "Oh, time to go skating, time to skate, skate, skate~"!"

Yuuri smiles. Well, if there's one thing that they agree on, it's the feeling right before heading onto the ice.

"Let's do some jumps! Oooh, let's try a combination, you almost landed that triple-toe-double-loop last time! Or should you just start with a simple jump? Or maybe... hmm..."

Yuuri shakes his head after processing Nikkō's words. "I can't do anything dangerous by myself, Nikkō. I need a spotter to—"

 _"What am I, chopped liver?"_ Nikkō says in accented English, before swapping back into Japanese. "Yuuri, I can fly. I can also easily get to Namito to get Yuuko-chan if something really goes wrong. Which I doubt will happen! Come ooooon," Nikkō whines.

Yuuri wavers. It's not like that isn't true, and Nikkō had done it before, but that was only when Yuuko had needed to go to the restrooms. "But— well, I guess... um…”

Nikkō cheers. "Yay! Lets start with a double toeloop and move up the difficulty as we go! Then we can make up some combos or maybe... oh, wait, we need to warm up first! One or two laps, Yuuri!"

Yuuri takes off his blade guards and sighs exasperatedly as he steps onto the ice. Pausing for a moment, he takes off his glasses, and the world blurs into fuzzy shapes and colours, yet distinctive enough.

“Wait, I’ll go get your contacts—“

“No, it’s alright, Nikkō!” he calls over. He still wasn’t used to wearing contacts often, finding them… not itchy or constricting or anything, but just uncomfortable. Sometimes they would be alright enough, but… he still didn’t want to, so why should he, if no one else was in the rink to bump into?

As Yuuri picks up speed, he notices minutes in, after half a lap, that Nikkō did not join him. He was still near the mouth, on top of a bench, standing oddly still for the typically boisterous bird. Furrowing his brows, Yuuri twists and skates backward towards Nikkō around the rink, before stopping with a _shrrrrk_ of ice.

“Nikkō?” His daemon would always fly by him, even tried to copy a few jumps by twirling in the air.

Nikkō remains silent for a moment before shaking his head and squatting down. “Keep skating, Yuuri. I’m your spotter, right?”

Yuuri hesitates, but shrugs. “Alright.”

 

* * *

 

“What did you say, Vitya?”

“Niko — _not Nika_ — is _male_ ,” Victor repeats, “and I’m _never_ going to hide that,” before taking a bite of more pickled tomatoes. He swallows.

The table is silent, and Masha quickly excuses herself, her daemon swooping beneath her sweater to join her. Victor catches his sister’s face before she leaves the dining room, smothers the guilty feeling rising from the sight of her tears. Victor knows she’s already forgiven him — and he won’t ever be angry with her. He’ll miss her, but he’s honestly done with dealing with the other occupants in this room. He places his fork down, takes a moment for himself, breathes, pets Niko on the head, breathes, and then tunes back into the shouted lecturing.

“I _knew it._ The long hair should have been a clue—“

“I never should have let you convince us. Fashion, you said. Fashion! What that is, is _illegal!_ You’re going to get thrown in bars—”

“My boy, I tell you, we’re not going to bail out a f—“

At seventeen, he leaves the house of homemade bread, tobacco scents, and loud disapproval, hair haphazardly half-hacked and a single knapsack on his shoulder.

He doesn’t look back.

He doesn’t ever regret it.

It’s not home, anyway.

Home is the ice. Home is where Niko is free to morph into any animal he wants to. Home is where Makkachin welcomes him after a long day of practice with slobbery kisses. Home is the small, shabby apartment he’s rented out with his own winnings since he started to pay Yakov’s _and_ Lilia’s coaching fee when he was fifteen.

(He has enough in his bank account, so he goes to the barber. The … _asymmetrical_ _bob_ did not do any wonders to his chin. 

Oh well. 

He wasn’t _that_ attached to long hair, anyway.) 

 

 

 

 

“Did you fall in love? Is that why you suddenly left?” Lilia asks one day, apropos of nothing, mid-practice in her studio, months after December 24th and five days since Victor had his surname legally changed, three days since he’d shouted himself hoarse over an unexpected and unwelcome phone call in Yakov’s rink.

(They’d begged him to come back. It was all a misunderstanding, you see! They knew he wasn’t one of _those._ He was Vitya, he was their son, he was—

_Ha._

As if.

He hung up and changed his phone number.)

“No,” Victor pants and whips his right leg around into a fouetté and bends over into the ending position. “I was just tired of it. I’ve long since given up on love for people. My love is for the ice, for the stage, for the wins, and for Niko. No one else.”

Lilia corrects his leg, twisting it to an angle that is truly not natural.

To the side, Victor hears Niko groan where he sits next to Afanasiy, Lilia’s yellow-crowned manakin daemon.

“Yes, yes, _I know._ I told him not to do it, but he’s stubborn, okay?”

Afanasiy buckles in laughter. “For the wins he says. _For the wins._ ” He looks about to fall from his perch.

Niko groans louder.

“His name is now, literally, _winner winnerson. Winner. Son of a winner!”_ The bird trills.

Victor nearly falls out of position, and it is only Lilia’s vice-grip that stops him from toppling over.

“I did it for Niko!” he protests, and if anyone asks, his flush is due to exertion from Lilia’s hellish lesson.

“Sure you did, darling,” the nasty bird sings.

“I did! I swear—“

There is a fond tone underneath as Lilia cuts in. “Alright, alright _Nikiforov._ Practice is over.”

Victor ducks his head, embarrassed and huffing, but he smiles.

Lilia is the first to acknowledge the “outrageous” stage name turned legal. The first to take him seriously, to acknowledge his daemon with her own, to take him for what he is and not care one whit about it unless it affected his dancing. Everyone else at Yakov’s rink had begun to just call him Victor, as if they didn’t know about his family, as if they didn’t know about his precarious situation, always tip-toeing the issue.

(He misses her when she leaves. He misses her, even when he “no longer needs lessons from _her_ ,” as Yakov tells him in a strange tone, not bitter or angry or sad or regretful, but a mixture of everything.

But he doesn’t tell Yakov that.)

(Instead, he plasters on a bright smile, Niko frowning disapprovingly in the background, bugging and whining and pushing Yakov until he’s transitioned from red to purple-faced.

After all, his dramatics pushes away those sad, self-hating faces his fath— _coach_ makes. Better him nearly spraying spit at his face, than being nearly on the verge of tears. Better him shouting without bite or true vitriol, than getting lost in melancholic thoughts.

But he will never tell Yakov that.)

 

 

 

 

Niko rolls over to him, burrowing under his arm until he rests comfortably against his chest. He’s wearing a long sleeve, and Niko is a border collie right now, and yet, no fur is latching onto his shirt. Makkachin, who is usually the type to tuck under his other arm too, always leaves a few brown curls attached to this black sweater.

Daemons are curious.

“Yeah, us especially.”

Victor blinks. “Did I say that aloud?”

“You always say stuff on your mind,” Niko yawns. “Too blunt sometimes and thoughts just slip through without filter.”

Victor pouts, and quickly swaps back to the original topic. “Why’re we so curious?”

Niko blinks blearily up at him. “…Uh, just look at us right now? I’m super tired, you’re too peppy, I’m an awkward mess, you’re way too generous with your affections — need I go on? Honestly, Victor, it's midnight. Can't we rest now that you've got your shiny medal?”

Victor shakes his head. “We're not that different! You were with me when we were watching—“

“I am not the manifestation of your ‘inner, deeper’ self. Or your alter ego. _Those don’t exist outside of dramas._ ”

Victor pouts heavily. “Nikoo _oo_ —“

Niko rolls his eyes before closing them, turning his face away. “You know what? I can’t hear you. I’m asleep, see? Snore, snore.”

Victor bite back a laugh. “People don’t say, ‘snore’ when they sleep, Niko.”

“Snore. Snore.”

"Niko."

_"Snoring."_

Victor sighs with a smile. Shifting over, he pats Niko on the head, passes over the gold medal on the hotel nightstand, hand brushing the blue roses that had frost glittering on its petals, and shuts off the light.

(Love is the ice. Love is winning. Love is Niko.)

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ###### Name meanings (from Google research - if it's wrong, please correct me!):
> 
> Niko: Anglicized from Greek νικη (nike) meaning "victory," may be a diminutive of Nikolai, Nikolas, etc. Related names/variants: Nikanor, Nikias, Νικολαος (Nikolaos).
> 
> Nikkō: Anglicized from 日光, which means "sunlight." 日 is sun. 光 is light. Derived from the Japanese city Nikkō Tōshō-gū (日光東照宮), which can mean "sunshine" or "sun brilliance."
> 
> ###### Other daemons mentioned (names were made up on the spot):
> 
> Hanika: Takeshi's tortoiseshell cat.  
> Namito: Yuuko's nightingale songbird.
> 
> Ruelle: Minako's Japanese red fox.  
> Afanasiy: Lilia's yellow-crowned manakin.


End file.
